


Fabricated Camaraderie

by Trekkiehood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Has PTSD, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Post-Purgatory Dean Winchester, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 08, Soldier Dean Winchester, Soldiers, Traumatized Dean Winchester, i ignore things i don't like in canon, i mean its not really i just do what i want and ignore the overarching plot, im skipping finals for this, slight AU, who needs an overarching plot when dean has ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28043979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekkiehood/pseuds/Trekkiehood
Summary: Ever since Dean had gotten out of Purgatory something had been off. He'd been prone to violent outbursts, rarely slept, rarely ate. Sam is at a loss of what to do to help his brother. Dean is at a loss how to cope back on earth surrounded by humans.A chance meeting with a veteran in a storm shelter may finally allow Dean to begin to heal.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Original Male Character(s), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85





	Fabricated Camaraderie

**Author's Note:**

> Look who joined the Supernatural bandwagon (come on how long did you expect me to last only being wholocked and not superwholocked?)
> 
> Anyway, yes I know I need to update my other fics, but I had to write this. I'm also ignoring my finals. But it's my birthday so who cares. This is my birthday present to myself.
> 
> This borrows from canon more than it actually follows it. I'm actually not too sure how canon-compliant it is because I'm basing this off of other fanfics and youtube clips. But I'm obsessed with Purgatory PTSD!Dean and there is simply not enough of it. So I wrote this. 
> 
> You can almost imagine this as you would someone coming directly off of season 7 having not seen season 8 and only read minuscule spoilers. Because... in a way that's exactly what has happened. 
> 
> Dean will probably be different in every fic I write. This is traumatized/soldier Dean. He's not the Dean from previous seasons because that's not who Dean is when he gets out of Purgatory. He's a different Dean. 
> 
> Just... Just read it lol. Hopefully, you'll get some enjoyment from it!
> 
> I had no intention of it being this long but it just kind of... kept going. 
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

“Dean, I promise, It’ll be fine.” Sam tried to use his eyes to will calmness into Dean’s rigid body. He lightly touched his brother’s shoulder only to feel a harsh flinch and remove his hand. Dean stiffened his shoulders and managed a nod.

It was already getting to him. He’d only been in this emergency center for twenty-three minutes and eighteen seconds and it was already making him tense and overly watchful. Sam offered a warm, if slightly timid, smile.

“I’m going to go find the person in charge, see if I can find out when we can get out of here.” He raised his hand as if to offer his brother a consoling touch, but decided against it, dropping his hand almost awkwardly as he turned and walked away.

Unsure of what to do, Dean allowed himself to sit against the far corner. His back was ramrod straight, knees slightly bent with a hand lingering around his bootstraps, his eyes doing a constant sweep of the room. There were maybe two dozen people in the makeshift shelter. The room was windowless, underground, and had only one exit. There were other doors, leading to bathrooms and an industrial kitchen. But only one way out. He didn’t like that.

From what he could tell, there were seven minors. Three elementary, two probably not school age yet, and two teenage boys. The other guests were varying levels of adults. None seemed to be the type that would cause problems, but you could never be too sure.

There were two or three men who could cause problems if they wanted to. He’d have to be sure to watch them.

A gust of wind came from above them, the sound of metal creaking and a large thump as if something was hitting the above-ground portion of the building. Dean’s hand subconsciously tightened around the hilt of his knife hidden in his boot.

There were too many people in there with him. He’d been actively avoiding large crowds and confined spaces. He knew he couldn’t be trusted in either. He was currently in the midst of both. Ever since his return from Purgatory, things hadn’t been… right. He knew it even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it and well, Sam certainly knew it even if he didn’t know everything.

More than once Dean had come back to reality with his brother’s pale face under him, a knife placed dangerously on his throat. Sam was always watching him now. Waiting for him to snap. Waiting for Dean to plunge a knife into the neck of some innocent man because Dean thought he saw vampire fangs.

Dean was waiting too. He was waiting for the moment Sam realized that he was a lost cause. Waiting for him to snap and lose complete control of himself. Or maybe to finally get over his year in Purgatory.

The way things were going, the last option seemed unlikely. This wasn’t like his return from Hell. Sure, he’d had problems when he returned. There’d been panic attacks and flashbacks and nightmares, but this was different. Before he had been traumatized. Years upon years of torture did that to you (as did years of being a torturer). But this, this was different. When he had returned above ground things had more or less returned to normal (well besides his brother drinking demon blood and the realization that angels were not only in existence but involved in his life.) But now that he was back from Purgatory, it was like… like he wasn’t actually back. His time in Purgatory had seemed to settle even deeper than his time in Hell. Perhaps it was body vs Soul. Maybe it was losing Cas and some twisted Survivors Guilt. It could just be that Hell and Purgatory were so very different. Being hunted 24/7 for one year was different than being strung up and tortured for thirty. But his one year with the monsters had shaped his world and personality more than Hell ever had. It had made him colder, more brutal, kill now ask questions later. It had made him a whole lot like his dad. He hated it. But he couldn’t stop it.

He had almost forgotten what humanity was like. Forgotten that there would good people who cared for others. Forgotten that not everything was a “use or be used” situation. Forgotten what gentle touches and kind words were. Benny had been a Vamp for too long to really feel in touch with his humanity and even Cas had seemed to have forgotten his time on earth. Dean wished he could feel comfort in Sam’s small contact, but even the smallest brush of skin set off his fight reflexes. He hadn’t felt at ease since he’d woken up in Purgatory and he was starting to believe he would never feel relaxed again.

A couple of the children were playing in a corner. Tag or just some vague childish chasing game. They were loud. He closed his eyes and could hear their footsteps. If he really concentrated he might even be able to hear their breathing.

He was tired. He supposed he could risk closing his eyes so long as he made sure he kept his ears in tune with his surroundings. He had barely slept since he returned. How was he supposed to sleep when there was no one keeping watch? Logically, he knew there was no point. There was nothing to watch for. Nothing was after him. He was the hunter in this world, not the hunted. The logic didn’t matter. He’d been running on pure instincts for months if not the entire year. His instincts had taken him over in almost an animalistic way. He would lie in the too-soft motel bed until Sam was asleep, then move to the more bearable floor. He’d sometimes manage an hour or two of sleep before some distant sound awoke him and his adrenaline kept him from any semblance of rest. He could always ask Sam to take a turn at watch. But he couldn’t do that. His brother wasn’t used to the endless days of no rest. Sam needed sleep. Sam, for all of his issues, was actually the sanest between the two of them at the moment. Sam would call him out on his paranoia and it’d turn into some chick flick moment that Dean didn’t have the energy to process or even tolerate.

Footsteps were coming near him, he felt the hilt of the knife, finding comfort in the way it had conformed to his hand. His eyes snapped open, grip tightening.

“Dean,” Sam said cautiously, slowing his steps to make sure his brother was seeing him, not a monster.

“Sam,” Dean rasped. His voice sounded rough like he hadn’t spoken in days. It might have even been true. He wasn’t much for small talk. He preferred to keep his answers to short sentences, only giving out the information that was needed. Dean remembered a time when he would talk non-stop about whatever entered his mind. Now, not much entered his mind, and what did would probably traumatize the listener.

Sam approached with a careful smile. He sat down beside his brother, making sure not to touch him, or even brush across him. Of all the things Purgatory had taken from him, that might be the thing he missed the most. The gentle, natural touches between two people. His brain had reprogrammed him to think that all touch was inherently bad unless he was the one to initiate it. Even then it depended on how traumatized his brain was feeling.

“I talked to some of the locals,” Sam began, “storms aren’t uncommon here. Probably nothing more than a seasonal storm. If it reaches full Tornado status they’ll let everyone know, but until then, there’s not much we can do but ride it out.”

Dean nodded, his eyes back to following the chaos of the room. The kids had settled down and were playing some hand slapping game in the left corner closest to the door. Most of the adults had gathered into one of three groups. There was a group of middle-aged women near the kids, sitting in metal chairs around a six-foot white table. The young adults were standing around by the stairway leading to the one exit, holding white styrofoam cups, talking too loudly, and laughing even louder. The men sat at their own white table, looking relaxed and at ease with the situation. The groups posed little threat. The people that had him worried were the loners. A woman read a book in the corner, low threat level. Old man sleeping on a cot, low threat level. Two lovers making out in the kitchen, probably wouldn’t emerge anytime soon, low threat level. A large man in his mid to late fifties, still appearing to be in good shape, sitting alone at a table, eyes flickering towards the Winchesters at random intervals, high threat level.

“Are you…” Sam’s voice wavered, as if unsure if he should continue. Dean would almost say his brother was afraid of him. It was a fair assessment, he was kind of scared of himself. Didn’t make it hurt any less. “Are you doing okay?”

Dean contemplated the proper answer for a moment. He honestly wasn’t sure. He hadn’t attacked anyone yet, if that was what he was asking. A pretty low bar, but fair for his current mental state. He didn’t plan on attacking anyone, but he rarely did. The noise was starting to get to him, but in a more generic way that had plagued him since Hell and less in an ‘I’m going to slit someone’s throat’ kind of way. So far at least.

“How long is the storm supposed to last?” He asked instead. Not the first time he ignored a question. Wouldn’t be the last.

Sam shrugged, still eying his brother carefully, “Could last hours, could last days.”

Dean nodded, setting his jaw. If they were down there for days, things could get bad. Sam knew that and that’s why he was watching him, gaging him. Dean’s hands twitched causing Sam to tense beside him.

“I’m fine, Sam.” He offered. “It’ll be fine.”

“Just, just try to relax, okay?”

Dean couldn’t help the small scoff that escaped his lips. Relax. Yeah right.

“You hungry?” Sam asked carefully.

No. He wasn’t. Even if he was, he’d only be able to choke down a few bites before being too full to function. Dean glanced at his brother. Sam had been trying to get him to eat more. His stomach had shrunk. It really wasn’t his fault. There hadn’t been much to eat in Purgatory. He’d learned to ration, eat only what it took to survive. Enough to keep you energized. Overstuff yourself even when it was available and you’d be sluggish. Not at your best fighting. He always had to be at his best. He’d gotten sick once. Whether it was off of the food, exhaustion, or some hidden or ignored injury, he’d been delirious for a week. Had only eaten crushed berries fed to him by Benny, and even that only once every couple of days. Ever since then he could barely stomach any food. Hadn’t eaten at all today. It wasn’t like he couldn’t go several days without feeling any serious effects. But his brother was worried. And hovering.

Dean nodded. Sam’s eyes widened in surprise and his mouth flickered into a genuine if hesitant smile. “Uh, well, they’ve laid out some food, I could go get some if you’d like. It, it might take a minute ‘cause it has to be microwaved.”

Dean offered his own tight smile. “Thanks, Sammy.”

His brother nodded, hurrying to his feet like he was afraid if he waited too long, Dean would change his mind. He watched Sam make his way to the table in front of the kitchen. A woman started to assist him and Dean turned his attention back to the man who had been watching him earlier.

He had moved. No, he was moving. He was making his way towards Dean. Looked like he had been waiting for Sam to leave. Dean tensed, positioning himself to rise to his feet quickly if needed. The knife in his boot was now fully in his grasp. He wasn’t supposed to have any weapons. Sam had made him leave his other knives and gun in the car when they had taken shelter. Sam didn’t understand that without his knife he would feel naked and exposed. And right now he was rather glad to be armed.

The man continued his slow approach. He had a slight upturn to his lips. Not quite a smile but nowhere near a frown. The way he was approaching, hands in front of him, casual but yet in clear view, slow pace, neutral leaning on positive facial features, he was trying not to startle Dean. Everything the man was doing was to keep him at ease. Dean didn’t relax, but he loosened his grip slightly. He glanced towards where his brother was talking to someone at the food table.

The man was about three feet in front of him at this point. He stopped, nodding to Dean. Dean jerked his head in what he hoped was an agreeable enough nod. “May I sit?” The man motioned to the spot Sam had vacated.

He answered with another jerky nod.

The man sat slightly further away than Sam had. Dean’s grip returned to his knife, his heart rate picking up a little. There was a long stretch of silence. Dean watched the man from the corner of his eye.

“How long have you been back?” The man asked.

Dean felt a jolt of confusion. How could this man possibly- Dean swept the man with his eyes. Military. This man was clearly military. Probably Marines.

He could honestly deny any military service, but he practically had been. He might not have served in the traditional sense, but he was just as much a soldier as anyone who had served.

Dean’s tense posture lessened slightly, the set in his jaw not as hard. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath through his nose. “Two months, three days,” _eighteen hours and twenty-two minutes_. He finished silently.

The man nodded silently. Dean could sense the motion even with his eyes closed.

“Steven.” The man said.

Dean opened his eyes to accept his outstretched hand. “Dean.”

The man nodded again. Dean felt surprisingly comfortable next to the man. An unspoken comradery, even if slightly fabricated.

“It does get better.” Steven offered.

Dean snorted. That was hard to believe.

“How long were you deployed?”

His hands twitched, “A year.”

“You saw a lot of action.”

It was a statement, not a question. Dean nodded in confirmation. “Too much. Or not enough. Not quite sure yet.” It was true. He had seen so much he should be done. He should be itching to give up this life, stop hunting, and live a real life. Yet he seemed to want it even more. He just wanted to hunt. Not killing took almost more effort than killing. It terrified him.

His hands twitched again and he noticed that they had taken on full tremors.

“Who’d you lose?”

The question wasn’t prying or cold. It was left open, to be answered or not. Dean set his jaw, feeling that deep guilt that never really left him alone surge forward. He dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand. “Friend. Hi-his name was Cas.” He choked out. He felt his throat start to burn with unshared grief. “He should have, should have made it back. He w-was so close. I could have saved him. I could have! B-but he slipped and-” his eyes were squeezed shut and now he was gritting his teeth, willing the wetness behind his eyes to dissipate.

Steven was silent. Dean hadn’t really talked about losing Cas. Even to Sam. But the moment the question was asked the words fell from his mouth as if they had been burning to be released. In a way, he supposed they had been.

“I’m sure you’ve heard it before, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Dean clenched his fists, shaking his head. “I-I should have made sure. All that, all that fighting and surviving and killing and, and he didn’t make it back. All because I lost my grip. I let him go.”

Steven didn't ask for the circumstances and Dean was grateful. Instead, he turned the conversation.“Who’s that?” Dean opened his eyes to watch Steven motion towards Sam with his chin.

“Brother. Sam.” He swallowed hard, his lips twitching upward. “H-he’s the reason I made it home. I, I knew I had to. For Sam.” Not that it was doing much good. Sam was afraid of him. Sam would have been better off he had died in Purgatory.

As if reading his throughs, Steven shook his head. “It does get better. If you can ride out these first few months, you’ll make it.”

Dean offered a non-committal hum.

“Will-” he stopped, it was a stupid question. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Of no importance to anyone. Steven nodded in encouragement. “Will I ever be able to sleep on a bed again?”

He knew how stupid it sounded but he needed something. Anything. A goal. He needed something concrete to look forward to. 'Better' in their line of work was a twisted term. It held no real meaning. He needed something with meaning.

Steven nodded slowly. “It might take some time, but yes. Maybe try the couch first. Might take a couple of nights, but you should be able to handle it.”

Dean nodded seriously. Couch. He could do that. Maybe he could try the Impala. Let Sam drive and sleep in the back. Any sleep was better than no sleep.

“Is it just you and your brother?”

A nod.

“He ever take the night watch?”

Dean turned to fully look at the man. Steven’s eyes of quiet understanding were more comforting than he expected.

Dean shook his head. “Never asked him to. He, he wouldn’t understand. It’s stupid. There’s nothing to watch for.”

A sad smile played at the other man’s lips. “You still need to sleep, son.”

“I’ve gone longer.” Dean shrugged.

“What if I kept watch.”

Dean raised his eyebrows.

“I know you don’t know me, but one soldier to another, I could watch, and you could sleep.”

The lights were on, but there was talk of shutting them off soon. Not like he couldn’t sleep in broad daylight. There were people around, but if Steven would watch… and Sam would be back soon. He might actually be able to sleep a few hours.

“Okay.” He said quietly.

He was about to lie down when he glanced at Sam who appeared to be waiting in line to use the kitchen, the couple must have been kicked out as the lights were now on and several people were moving around in the room.

“Do you, do you have any suggestions about, about food?” He wasn’t sure what compelled him to ask. It wasn’t something he should be asking a total stranger, but this man seemed to know more about him than anyone should.

“Too much or too little?”

“Too little. Can’t stomach more than a couple bites a day.” He glanced up at the man’s thoughtful look and added a small cover story. “We, uh, there was a food shortage. Couldn’t get much into us. Took, took months before we really got anything and by then…” his voice trailed off, his eyes doing another once over around the room.

“You eat today?”

Dean shook his head. “Sam went to get something. Don’t know how much I’ll be able to get down though. Probably not much.”

The man nodded in understanding. “Eat little often. I know you won’t want to, but it’s better than nothing. It will slowly stretch your stomach until your ready to eat full meals again.” Steven paused as if deciding if he should continue. “Would you like for me to talk with your brother?”

Dean stiffened. No, he would rather leave Sam out of it completely. But that was pointless. Sam was already involved and it would be better for him to know than to be caught off guard.

A single bob of the head. Steven looked pleased.

“I-if you’re serious about keeping watch….” He glanced sideways. Dean was tired. This was the first time someone had offered to watch since he had gotten out of Purgatory.

“Why don’t you sleep, son. You can work on eating in the morning.”

Dean nodded, lying down on his side, if he opened his eyes, he still had a clear view of most of the room. But he let them fall shut. Dean felt the tension and stiffness leave his shoulders as he drifted into sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm debating a second part. If there's anything you'd like to see if I happened to do a second part, just let me know. If not, It might remain a one-shot. We'll see. I think it can end here just fine if I didn't write more. I'm marking it as complete but follow/subscribe if you like it just in case. It's up to my Muse. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I don't know why but I'm obsessed with soldiers helping Dean and thinking that he is a soldier. My boy has issues for sure. 
> 
> Anyway, there will likely be more fics soon, I'll try to update my others as well. Finals are this week so I'll be free very soon. 
> 
> Leave a comment and make my day!
> 
> God bless,  
> Jamie


End file.
